Flight of the Renshai fotr-1

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Amazir's words lit a fire in Calistin's veins. Rage filled him, so hot it caused him pain; and the urge to slaughter the entire Pudarian royal line seized him. "He raped my mother? My mother?" That led to another scorching realization. "I'm a child of rape? And my blood… my blood…" Suddenly, he wanted to slice open every artery, to drain himself of the tainted, now boiling, life-fluid of his enemy. It explained so much, not the least of which why he looked as different from his brothers as they did from one another.

  Treysind moved toward Calistin, as if to drag him into an embrace, but stopped short of actually completing the action. He knew better.

  "No," Amazir said softly. "The prince no more wanted a part of it then Kevral, but he had little choice."

  Calistin refused to believe it. "A man always has a choice."

  "He would have been killed."

  Calistin folded his arms across his chest, still seething. "I doubt that. Then the king would have no heirs at all."

  "As I said, King Cymion thought little of his younger child. He would have executed him without much provocation."

  Calistin gave no quarter. "The threat of death doesn't matter. A good man would choose to die rather than commit such a vile crime."

  "But Prince Leondis surmised, rightly, that if he was executed, the king would have taken his place in Kevral's bed."

  Calistin made a noise of outrage and revulsion. "She would have sliced his manhood from him and fed it to his dogs. Then she would have killed him."

  Now Treysind cringed and made a sound similar to Calistin's.

  Amazir only smiled. "I'm quite certain she would have, had she not been jailed and fully shackled, with her newborn twins as hostages."

  "So I'm an heir to the throne of Pudar." Calistin tried to muster some interest in the idea but failed miserably. At the moment, he would rather carry Treysind's blood than King Cymion's.

  "No."

  Treysind and Calistin jerked their heads to Amazir simultaneously and in just as shocked a silence.

  "No?" It made no sense. Calistin knew only nine months had elapsed between the birth of his brothers and his own, and he had carried full term. "How could…?" He recalled heroic tales from his grandfather about how his father had single-handedly challenged the army of Pudar to rescue Kevral from their prison. Knight-Captain Kedrin had never mentioned the details Amazir elaborated now, but Calistin knew the stories had to intertwine. "Papa?"

  "Acted with courage befitting the bravest Renshai, but he did not arrive in time."

  Treysind did not give Calistin a chance to gather his thoughts for a full question. "So who's Hero's real father?"

  Amazir gave Treysind the first stern look ever aimed, by him, at the boy. "Ra-khir is not fake or false. He is Calistin's real father."

  Treysind looked even more confused, staring at his feet to avoid the harshness of Amazir's gaze. "But yas sayed he didn't 'rrive in time."

  Calistin rescued the boy. "He means Ra-khir is my real father because he claimed and raised me. Bloodline doesn't matter, and a man's seed alone doesn't make him a father." He gave Amazir a pleading look. "Nevertheless, I would like to know whose ancestral line I carry." He could not help adding, "And it's my right to know. My parents should have told me."

  Amazir nodded sagely. "In their defense, they were sworn to secrecy. A Knight of Erythane would die before he broke an oath, and Kevral loved him too much to risk losing him by violating her own promise."

  "She loved me, too," Calistin found himself saying defensively. "Or so she said."

  "Poor Kevral," Treysind murmured, apparently catching a detail Calistin's outrage forced him to miss.

  No longer irritated with the boy, Amazir nodded. "Imagine having to live with such a secret. To keep it meant violating her son's trust, but to reveal it meant betraying her husband and her own honor."

  Calistin fell silent. He had not yet looked at it from Kevral's viewpoint, might not ever have done so if not for his two companions. He suspected most of the details of his life might look different from others' perspectives, yet he refused to analyze them. He might not like what he found.

  "And one last event helped tip the balance. Your blood grandfather gave his blessing to Ra-khir as your father. He promised that his family would not interfere."

  "An' yet," Treysind said with uncharacteristic thoughtfulness and an intensity of expression that focused squarely on Amazir, "ya has now, hasn't ya?"

  Amazir smiled.

  Calistin gawked. "Are you saying…?" He turned fromTreysind to Amazir. "Are you confirming…?" He shook his head to clear it, wishing his mouth would work. "You? You are my blood grandfather?"

  "I am," Amazir admitted simply. "But I wasn't planning to tell you just yet.Your astute companion has a tendency to help you when you least deserve it, usually at my expense."

  Calistin expected his mind to fill with questions, but he found only one and that he aimed at Treysind. "How did you know? How could you possibly know?"

  Treysind only shrugged his skinny shoulders. "Who else's gonna know so much 'bout ya? Or care 'nough ta cram it through ya's big, fat head?" He added the simplest detail as if in afterthought, "An' yas looks 'ike some, too."

  Calistin studied the wrinkled old man in front of him and wondered how anyone could notice anything similar about them. Only then, he remembered he had once considered the possibility that Amazir was a vision of his own future.

  Amazir laughed. "You should not see any resemblance, regardless. I've altered my appearance."

  "It's tha eyes," Treysind explained. "Ya can't das'guise 'em."

  It seemed a family trait of Kevral's children, that, when it came to appearances, each tended to most favor his paternal grandfather. Subikahn looked more like Weile Kahn than anyone else; and Saviar had inherited all of Kedrin's splendor, including his natural, damnable charisma. Suddenly, Calistin had to know what the future held in store for him. "So what do you really look like? Can I see? Please?"

  Amazir rose with a quickness that belied his age, though Calistin had become accustomed to it. Only as the swordmaster disappeared into the brush to change did some of the more important queries rise to Calistin's mind. It seemed petty to worry about appearances when so much of his origins still remained obscure. Amazir could answer so much, if Calistin only thought to ask the right questions.

  Treysind moved closer. "Yas all righ', Hero?"

  Treysind's worry seemed nonsensical. "Of course I'm all right," Calistin snapped. Why wouldn't I be all right?"

  "He gived ya big news. Don't it matter ta ya?" Treysind threw himself into Calistin's arms, embracing him.

  Uncertain how to handle the situation, Calistin remained still, allowing the warmth of the boy to reach him. It was a hug that radiated brotherhood and understanding, and it did make him feel a bit better. He would die before he would admit it, however. "Get off me, Treysind." He gave the boy a light shove. "What's wrong with you?"

  "Nothin'." Treysind backed away. "Jus' tryin' ta make ya feel better." A glimmer of disappointment flashed through his pale eyes. "Ain't I doin' it right? 'cause I ain't got much practice."

  Once again, Calistin found himself looking at the world through Treysind's eyes, an orphan scarcely old enough to remember a mother's love, if he had ever known it. "No, I'm sure you're doing it right… if I was a great big girl. I can handle my own problems, no matter how overwhelming they might seem to you."

  Clearly hurt, Treysind turned away.

  Calistin closed his eyes and sighed. "Look, Treysind. Don't think I don't appreciate your trying to help me. I do, but-"

  To Calistin's relief, Amazir returned before he had to come up with the words to finish. Previously, his torke had appeared ancient; now, he seemed merely aging. His hair was Northern golden, with a liberal sprinkling of silver. His features looked solid, chiseled, with blunt cheekbones and a gently-arched chin. Four straight scars marred one cheek, in lines, just in front of his ear. The body remained lithe, lean, and sinewy; but the s
kin now looked healthy and well-veined instead of paper thin. The eyes remained the same timeless and intense blue-gray. It was not, Calistin realized, a particularly handsome or homely visage, but one that might easily disappear into a crowd. And he believed he did see some resemblance in the oval of his torke's face, the fine straight nose, pointed chin, and the average-sized lips; but, most of all, in those damnable, piercing eyes.

  The questions remained, but Calistin found himself nearly incapable of asking. Hating one's torke was a time-honored occurrence among Renshai; he doubted a single one of his students could stand him. He demanded only respect and obedience, never love. Yet to discover that this man's son had raped his mother would drive him past outrage to murder. Amazir's words still rang in his ears: "Your blood grandfather gave his blessing to Ra-khir as your father. He promised that his family would not interfere." What cold and terrible arrogance would cause a man to believe he had a right to any child conceived to his family through rape.

  But Calistin did not ask. He could not. For to do so meant losing the one truly good thing that had happened since the Northmen had come to Bearn. If he never learned the answer to that obvious question, the truth became solely what he made it out to be, nothing more and nothing less. He might never learn to love or trust this man who had taught him so much; but, at least in ignorance, he could continue to learn from Amazir's spectacular talent.

  CHAPTER 36

  The urge to humiliate another is too often at the root of valor.

  -Knight-Captain Kedrin Ramytan's son

  Something brushed Saviar's forehead. His fingers inched instinctively for his sword, but his hand closed around nothing. Someone had apparently managed to disarm him. He turned the motion into a sleep movement, judging his surroundings in eye-closed darkness. He felt the heat of a nearby body, and a hand touched his face again. Quick as a snake, he grabbed the stranger's wrist, only to find his own movement unbearably clumsy. As he opened his eyes, a high-pitched scream rang through his ears.

  Saviar stared into a terrified, young female face. Intelligent eyes, gray-blue in color, were wide open. The nose was straight above large lips in a longish oval face, and her ears were invisible beneath thick waves of mahogany hair. A spray of freckles decorated her cheeks.

  An instant later, Subikahn also stood over him. "Savi! Saviar, you're awake."

  That being self-evident, Saviar saw no reason to reply. He lay in an unfamiliar, stone-walled room with no memory of how he had gotten there. "Where are we?" His voice emerged as an unrecognizable croak, and his throat felt on fire.

  "You tell him." The girl pulled her hand from his grip, and Saviar made no attempt to stop her. His twin did not look entirely at ease, but they clearly were not in any imminent danger. He also noticed, at once, that Subikahn wore Motfrabelonning. "I'll go let the others know."

  Saviar struggled to sit up, surprised at how difficult he found that simple motion. He felt strangely weak, thinner than he remembered, but he still managed to demand the necessary. "Give me back my sword." Now seated on a blanket-covered pallet, he looked at Subikahn's wildly uncombed hair and lines impressed onto his cheeks by whatever folded cloth he had used as a pillow. "And you look awful!"

  A smile touched Subikahn's lips, but he did not respond to the insult, even with friendly banter. He passed over the sword, and Saviar drew it protectively into his lap. "I'll explain everything soon. For now, just promise me you won't tell anyone we're…" He lowered his voice to the barest whisper. "… Renshai."

  "Why not?" Saviar managed hoarsely. He tried to fasten the sheathed weapon to his belt, his fingers responding with a sluggish, frustrating awkwardness.

  Subikahn glanced over his shoulder. "I'll explain later. Just promise me."

  "But I-" It took him twice as long as it should have, but Saviar managed to reattach his sword. An immediate sense of relief fell over him.

  "Promise!" Subikahn's voice remained low but gained force. "Just do it."

  "All right." Saviar knew he would learn nothing more until he did as his twin asked. "I promise; I promise." He dropped his own voice to a whisper that kept the pain to a bare minimum. "Now tell me where we are."

  Subikahn sighed and back stepped. Before he could answer, however, a group of strange men and women burst into the room, all talking simultaneously. They used the Western tongue with an accent Saviar did not recognize, and he found it impossible to follow any particular conversation.

  An elder at the front of the pack raised a hand, and the group gradually fell silent. Though feeling dizzy and sick, Saviar studied his every movement. He had a slow deliberateness about him that would make him an inferior swordsman, and his muscles had clearly withered with age. However, his limbs did not tremble and his light brown eyes remained clear as he returned Saviar's scrutiny. "Tell us your name, young man."

  Saviar opened his mouth, but Subikahn answered first. "I told you. That's my-"

  Frowning deeply, the elder cut Subikahn off with a gesture. "I need to hear it from him."

  The young woman Saviar had caught earlier threaded her way through the pack to stand at Subikahn's side. She spoke softly to him, and Subikahn nodded reluctantly.

  Saviar cleared his throat, then wished he had not. It felt as if tiny shards of metal had become embedded in it. "My name is Saviar Ra-khirsson." True to his word, he said nothing more, leaving off the details of his tribal affiliation.

  The elder smiled. "And mine is Jeremilan Ham's son."

  Subikahn stiffened, and his gaze whipped to the speaker. He stared, which cued Saviar to be on his guard. He noticed nothing special about the man. White hair fell to narrow shoulders, and his wrinkled face told little about his mood. He wore a robe that, though not inordinately tight, fit well enough to reveal weapons, if he had carried any.

  Apparently oblivious to the Renshai's interest in him, Jeremilan made a casual gesture toward Subikahn. "Do you know this young man?"

  Saviar rolled his gaze to Subikahn, more from politeness to the elder's request than from necessity. Subikahn had not instructed him to avoid any topic but their status as Renshai; and he felt certain his brother would have warned him if any other information was dangerous. "That's my twin brother, Subikahn."

  Murmurs traversed the group. Either Subikahn had not told them the relationship; or, more likely, they had thought him a liar.

  Jeremilan's next question gave Saviar no insight. "Saviar, do you know where you are?"

  Saviar shook his head carefully, so the movement did not intensify his vertigo. "I have absolutely no idea. Can you please tell me?"

  The girl turned Subikahn a dirty look, and he shrugged. She had specifically instructed him to explain their location while she gathered the crowd now filling the room, but Subikahn had spent that time extracting a promise instead.

  "You're with the Mages of Myrcide, Saviar." Jeremilan studied him for some reaction to the news, but Saviar gave him nothing but honest bewilderment. The word "mage" had magical connotations, but he had never heard of this Myrcide.

  "Mare-see-DAY?" Saviar tried.

  Jeremilan restored an inflection that sounded more Western than foreign, "Myrcide. Long before either of our births, it was a village. Now, it's simply a title."

  Either of our births? The comparison seemed ridiculous. Jeremilan appeared older than dirt. "I see." Saviar could think of nothing better to say.

  Murmurs and nods ran through the crowd. Clearly the words struck them far more profoundly.

  "Saviar, at the risk of alarming you, I'm going to perform a little spell over you." Jeremilan continued quickly, "It won't hurt, and it won't harm you in any way."

  Saviar touched his hilt but did not seize it. He wanted the reassurance, without appearing to threaten. He looked to Subikahn for guidance. His brother had clearly taken the measure of these mages while Saviar was sleeping.

  Subikahn's lids swept unhurriedly down and upward, and he nodded encouragingly.

  Jeremilan lowered his head and muttered
a few guttural syllables that sounded more elfish than human. A glow blossomed from his fingertips.

  Saviar's hand tightened on the hilt.

  The mages did not move, though Saviar got the impression of them all pressing closer. Only Subikahn noticed his brother's defensiveness, and he spoke in reassuring tones, "Easy, Saviar. It's all right."

  A fuzzy light sprang to life around Saviar, and the crowd retreated slightly with whispered comments and measured smiles.

  Then, as suddenly as it had all come, it disappeared. Jeremilan stepped back.

  "What was that all about?" Saviar demanded, gaze fixed on Subikahn.

  This time, the girl answered. "We just needed to know if you had an aura. If the blood of Myrcidians runs through your veins."

  Saviar could not imagine that to be true. "And… does it?"

  "It does!" Jeremilan called triumphantly, to scattered applause. "In both of you. Which must mean it comes from your mother."

  Our mother, the Renshai. Saviar could not wait to get Subikahn alone.The last thing he wanted now was questions about their mother, especially on the heels of Subikahn's warning. As the vertigo dissipated, the nausea resolved into an intense and angry hunger. He felt as if someone had stabbed him deep in the gut; yet, somehow knew that food would help quench the fire. "I'm famished," he announced, mostly to change the subject but also as an abrupt and overriding realization. Strangely, he felt as if he had not eaten in days.

  Jeremilan's expression looked stricken, and several members of the audience lowered their heads. A pair nearest the door rushed from the room. "Of course, you're famished. We'll get you something to eat and drink."